


Starving

by polygondusted



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8916688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polygondusted/pseuds/polygondusted
Summary: The boys play a game of truth or dare. Feelings are realized and romantic things ensue.
Somewhat inspired by the song Starving by Hailee Steinfeld, Grey, and Zedd.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thescrewtapedemos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Caz! <3

Porter grins wildly, the sound of the roaring crowd in front of him only adding to his exhilaration. He throws his hands up into the air as the final note fizzles out of existence before grabbing the microphone and shouting, "Thank you so fucking much, Hard Summer!" He's sweaty and out of breath and probably having a heat stroke but he doesn't care. All that matters is the rush he gets from playing festivals like this, seeing all these people who traveled God knows how many miles just to hear his music.

Truth be told, it still doesn't feel quite real to him, not even standing here in front of thousands of fans all cheering for him until their voices turn raw. And what's more unreal was that he _and_ his best friends are all headliners. It's fucking crazy to Porter, getting to live out their dreams in such a monumental way.

He floats on the elated feeling for a few seconds, not able to do much more than wave his arms around in the air and smile so hard that his cheeks begin to ache. He's snapped back to reality when someone just as disgustingly sweaty as he is flies onto the stage and throws his arms around Porter.

The cacophonous screaming in Porter's ears intensifies when everyone catches sight of Dillon lifting him up into the air and squeezing him in a crushing embrace that leaves Porter a little lightheaded.

Dillon sets Porter back on the ground and claps him on the back, a wide grin lighting up his face. He leans towards Porter and yells over the noise that seems to have increased tenfold after he joined Porter onstage. "Your set was fucking awesome!" His eyes shine with pride for his friend and Porter can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"Thanks!" replied Porter, straining his voice to speak over the crowd's frantic cheering. His face is flushed from happiness and it blooms into a blush when Dillon gets ahold of the mic and shouts into it.

"Porter fucking Robinson, everybody!" The crowd erupts in ear-splitting cheers once again and Dillon grabs Porter by the hand as they stumble off the stage together.

When they get backstage, Porter finds that Hugo and Anton are there to greet him as well. They both have the same eager look of pride as Dillon on their faces and Porter's whole body is flooded with a rush of warmth at the sheer supportiveness of his friends. He runs into their open arms and everyone is smiling and patting him on the back and telling him what a great show that was.

Porter would do the same for all of them, of course. In fact, he'd surprised each one of them backstage after they'd finished their sets too and he met them with the same enthusiasm that they have for him now.

God, he's so fucking lucky to have these guys. Porter doesn't know where he would be without them. He can feel himself getting sentimental, watching his friends crowd around him and double over with laughter as they crack jokes. _Jeez, pull yourself together_ , Porter thinks to himself with a shake of his head. He'd never hear the end of it if they caught him getting teary-eyed at Hard Summer, of all places.

Thankfully, Porter doesn't have a chance to get too sentimental before Dillon tugs on his sleeve and says, "Do you wanna head back to the hotel? I'm hungry as fuck and I'm craving Chinese food."

Porter complies and lets Hugo and Anton know that they're going back to the hotel for to order takeout. Both Anton and Hugo agree that they're starving and decide to tag along with Dillon and Porter and eat dinner with them. They're all staying in the same hotel like they usually do, but there weren't any more four-person rooms available so they had to split up: Hugo and Anton in one room, Dillon and Porter in another.

When they arrive back at the hotel, Dillon calls a Chinese food restaurant and places their order. "Yeah, can I get two large orders of lo mein noodles, three large orders of sweet and sour chicken, eight egg rolls, and three sides of fried rice?"

"Jesus Christ, Dillon, are you ordering enough for us four or a whole banquet?" Porter teases. He picks up a wrinkled shirt from the floor and tosses it at Dillon.

Catching the shirt and good-naturedly throwing it back at Porter, Dillon replies, "You'll thank me later, bitch. This restaurant is supposed to have the best Chinese food in all of Colorado."

"Okay, okay," Porter says, raising his hands in defeat. "Whatever you say."

Dillon finishes confirming their lengthy order and hangs up his phone. Making his way over the bed that Porter's sitting on, he flops onto his back, limbs splayed out. His arm accidentally catches the back of Porter's head on his way down and he quickly apologizes, ruffling Porter's hair over the spot he had hit.

"It's fine," Porter mumbles. He's surprised to find that his cheeks have grown slightly warm and he doesn't know why. It's not like Dillon did anything unusual; he'd ruffled his hair plenty of times before and Porter had thought nothing of it. It was just something that Dillon did, so Porter resigns himself to the idea that maybe he's just really hungry and really wiped out from his show earlier. Nothing more than that.

To Dillon's delight, the Chinese food arrives within twenty minutes and they all dig in. They heap their plates up high with egg rolls and chicken and rice and scarf it down as if they haven't eaten for weeks.

"Oh man," moans Anton, taking another bite of lo mein, "this is so fucking good."

Hugo nods eagerly in agreement, his mouth too full of food to say anything.

Dillon leans over and taps Porter on the shoulder. "Hey, mind if I try some of your veggie egg roll? They only put one in the bag and those are my favorite kind." He clasps his hands together and gives Porter a pleading look.

Porter laughs. "Sure, no need to beg." He holds out the egg roll, expecting Dillon to take it from him. Instead, Dillon scooches closer to Porter and leans down to take a bite while the roll is still in Porter's hand. He doesn't break eye contact with Porter until he sits back up and swallows, swiping a hand across his mouth.

"Thanks!" he says all too casually as he gets up to grab a napkin from the kitchen.

"N-no problem," Porter stutters out. His hand is still hanging in midair, holding the egg roll that Dillon had taken a bite out of. He stares at it, tries to process what just happened. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ he thinks, slightly horrified at himself. _I must be going crazy. It's just Dillon. Dillon, who I've known for years, who I've seen at his absolute worst, who's seen _me_ at my absolute worst. Just Dillon._

He repeats that thought over and over again in a halfhearted attempt to make himself believe it. After a few moments, he gives up. It's not worth trying to figure anything out right now since he's pretty sure that it'll just make him more confused than he already is.

Dillon returns from the kitchen and comes back to his spot on the bed next to Porter. They exchange a smile, even though Porter's is so forced that he almost thinks it would be better to not smile at all. It's just too confusing, too much to make sense of at one time.

Once they're finished eating, they settle on watching TV until Hugo and Anton decide to go back to their own room for the night. Porter lazily flicks through the channels, trying to find something mildly interesting. He tosses the remote to Dillon in hopes that he'll have better luck.

"Porter, isn't there an anime or something that we can watch?" Hugo interjects.

"Yeah, you've got to be able to find a good anime somewhere. You're basically the professional weeaboo of this friend group," adds Dillon.

"Yeah, okay, I'll see what I can do." Porter gets up to rummage through his backpack and hauls out his laptop. He goes back over to the bed and sits cross-legged on it with his laptop open in front of him. He's barely typed in the URL for Crunchyroll when Anton hops up from his spot on the other bed and abruptly shuts his laptop.

"Wait, I have a better idea."

Porter looks at him, eyebrows raised, waiting. 

"Let's play truth or dare."

"Truth or dare?" Dillon snorts. "I don't know if you noticed, Anton, but we're not exactly in high school anymore."

"I know that, I just thought it would be fun. You know, something to pass the time." Anton shrugs. "We can come up with something else to do if you really don't want to play it."

"No, I think we should go with Anton's idea," Hugo cuts in. "It'll keep us entertained and if we get bored we can just have Porter go find an anime."

Dillon reluctantly agrees and Porter really couldn't care less one way or the other. His thoughts are still too scrambled for him to enjoy anything anyway.

"Right, I'll start," begins Anton. He turns to Hugo, who's sitting beside him on the bed opposite the one that Dillon and Porter are on. "Hugo, truth or dare?"

Hugo pauses to think for a moment, tilting his head as he considers his options. "Dare," he finally says.

"Okay, I dare you to lick one of Dillon's socks. And _not_ a clean one." Anton's expression is amused as he watches Hugo's reaction.

"But that's so disgusting!" protests Hugo.

"Hey, you chose dare," Anton counters.

Hugo furrows his eyebrows and glares at Anton before turning to Dillon, holding out his hand. "Your sock, s'il vous plaît."

Dillon snickers as he peels a sock off of his foot, delicately placing it on Hugo's outstretched hand as if he was bestowing upon him the most exquisite gift known to mankind.

Hugo wrinkles his nose, pinching the sock between two fingers and holding it out at arm's length. "Well, here goes nothing." He brings the sock closer to his mouth and recoils in disgust as soon as he feels the sock brush against his tongue. "Merde, that's fucking horrible." He grabs a tissue and frantically wipes his tongue with it, trying to get rid of the rancid taste it left behind while Anton tries and fails to stifle a laugh.

"Glad my stinky socks could be of service," says Dillon, winking at Hugo.

"Don't get too full of yourself now." Hugo rolls his eyes good-naturedly before turning to Porter. "Okay, your turn," he says. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," answers Porter. If Hugo gives him an embarrassing dare, so be it. At the very least, it'll help him take his mind off of what he's feeling right now.

The corners of Hugo's lips quirk up in a mischievous smile. "I dare you to kiss Dillon."

Porter's mouth falls open in utter shock. What the fuck is he doing? Did Hugo figure out that Porter is—that he feels—shit, _he_ doesn't even know how he feels. Is it really that obvious to everyone else? A blush flames across Porter's face and he can feel it go all the way up to the tips of his ears. He blinks rapidly, trying to think of an excuse, trying to come up with anything to get him out of this dare.

He opens his mouth but all that pours out is nonsense. "I—how about—shit, I just—what if—"

"Come on, Porter, just do it. At least you get to kiss Dillon's mouth instead of his sock," Hugo points out.

Porter drags a hand down his face and takes a shaky breath. He glances over at Dillon, expecting to see him looking as mortified as he is. Instead, Dillon is the picture of composure. He's reclined back on the bed, hands casually clasped behind his head. He looks back at Porter expectantly, raising his eyebrows.

"A dare is a dare, Porter," says Dillon.

Porter's heart flutters, a tiny tremble that sends waves of nervousness throughout his body. Something else, too. Anticipation, maybe? He's not sure. At this point, he's not sure of anything at all. All he knows is that he's making a big deal out of a simple little dare, but he just can't drop the thought that this could change everything between him and Dillon. If there even is anything between them to change, that is.

Mustering up all the courage he has, Porter offers Dillon a hesitant smile. Dillon flashes a smile right back, still as cool and collected as ever. Porter clenches the bedsheet in his hands, the tension in his body clearly noticeable. _Just one, quick, tiny kiss_ , he promises himself. _Just a tiny kiss and then it's over._

Before Porter can change his mind, Dillon sits up. In the blink of an eye, his face is mere inches from Porter's and he's close enough that Porter can feel his hot breath with every exhale. Taken by surprise, Porter frantically tries to pull himself away, tries to put as much distance between himself and Dillon as possible. But Dillon's already reaching a hand up to cup Porter's face, holds him there.

He closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to Porter's own. Porter's eyes grow wide and the kiss sends tingles down his neck, down his spine, all the down way to the tips of his toes. He closes his eyes and finds himself instinctively kissing Dillon back, leaning into his gentle touch.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Dillon pulls away and his hand lingers on Porter's face for a fleeting moment, not nearly long enough. Porter is left speechless and blushing and admittedly a little breathless.

_Holy fuck._ Porter absentmindedly reaches up to touch his still-tingling lips, then hastily snatches his hand away once he realizes what he's doing. He runs his hand through his hair instead, trying to pull himself together and make it seem like he didn't enjoy the kiss as much as he actually did.

"Jesus," he hears Anton whisper under his breath.

Porter sneaks a cursory glimpse of Dillon, who, once again, has a nonchalant air about him that Porter quickly makes an attempt to match. Clearing his throat, he asks as casually as possible, "So, uh, why did you—"

Dillon cuts him off before he can get out the question. "I know what you're gonna ask, and I did it because it was a dare and you were taking years to do it and if I wasn't gonna do it then you sure as hell weren't and it needed to get done so I just decided to do it," he finishes as he drags in a breath.

Porter just stares at him, open-mouthed.

"We should get back to our room now," Hugo says carefully. He shoos Anton off of the bed and out the door, softly clicking it closed behind him.

Left alone, Porter and Dillon sit in silence. Porter begins to pick at the fuzz on his sweatshirt while trying to think of something to say. Dillon fiddles with the buttons of the TV remote, but doesn't turn it on. The silence hangs heavy in the air, a reticent quiet that seems too subdued for all the emotions running through Porter's mind right now.

After a few wordless minutes, Dillon gets up and heads for the bathroom. "I think I'm gonna go take a shower," he tells Porter, finally breaking the silence.

Porter nods in acknowledgment but doesn't say anything. He's incredibly tired all of a sudden, and as soon as he hears the water start running he strips down to his boxers and throws on sweatpants and a t-shirt. He climbs into the other bed in the room, the one that had been left empty after Hugo and Anton slipped away.

He lays down with a sigh and tosses the covers over himself, wondering if Dillon is as messed up over this as he is right now. Every possible scenario runs through his head: Dillon admitting that the kiss was actually a joke, Dillon asking Porter if they could give each other some space, Dillon telling Porter that he'd been dreaming of kissing him for years.

Porter huffs out loud at the last one. Fat chance of that happening. With luck like his, Dillon probably never wants to speak to him again. _Maybe that would be for the best_ , thinks Porter. _Then I wouldn't have to deal with this whole situation at all._

Suddenly, Porter hears the telltale click of the bathroom door unlocking. His body freezes and he's caught in a moment of panic before reaching over and hastily turning off the lamp on the nightstand. He rolls over so that his back is facing the bathroom door and shuts his eyes, praying that Dillon will think he's asleep. He tries desperately to steady his breathing as the door opens and Dillon steps out.

He listens to the soft padding of Dillon's feet on the floor and the creak of the other bed as he climbs into it. Dillon shuffles underneath the covers without a word and the room goes deathly quiet once again. Porter lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He's struck with the sudden urge to cross the room and curl up in Dillon's bed, let Dillon hold him with the same tenderness that he'd kissed Porter with earlier.

He squashes that idea before it becomes too much, too hard to resist. He resigns himself to staying in his own bed with nothing but his scattered thoughts to keep him company.

Porter lies awake, staring vacantly up at the ceiling. He doesn't think sleep will come to him anytime soon even though he can feel the pull of exhaustion on his eyelids. Any hopes that he had of eventually falling asleep are quickly forgotten when he hears the sound of sheets rustling coming from Dillon's bed.

Body going cold as ice, Porter immediately shuts his eyes again. He waits for Dillon to settle back down, but the silence doesn't come. Rather, he listens as Dillon makes his way over to Porter's bed and sits down on the edge of it. The mattress dips underneath Dillon's weight and Porter's breath catches in his throat.

"I know you're not asleep," says Dillon softly into the darkness.

Porter's back is still towards Dillon as he slowly cracks open his eyes. "Yeah," he replies, voice hushed.

Porter prepares himself for Dillon to let him down easy, to explain that he doesn't want to hurt Porter but he just can't be that person for him.

Instead, Dillon gently lifts up the covers and slides in next to Porter, shifting onto his side so that he's facing Porter's back. Porter whips his head around to look at Dillon and his heart skips a beat. "Wh—what are you do—"

He stops mid-sentence when Dillon wraps an arm around his waist and pulls Porter towards him, his chest flush with Porter's back. The affectionate gesture catches Porter off-guard and his brain nearly shuts off for a moment, unable to comprehend that Dillon is pressing up against him, touching him, _holding_ him.

Dillon's breath is warm on the back of Porter's neck and he can feel Dillon's hand resting on his waist through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, achingly intimate.

All of the worries that had been building up inside Porter instantly melt away, replaced by a refreshing tranquility that releases the tension in his shoulders and soothes every part of his body. He makes a soft noise when Dillon presses a chaste kiss to the back of his neck, right below the nape, and it sends delicious tingles running down his spine for the second time that day.

"Dillon," Porter gets out. Dillon peppers a few more kisses onto Porter's neck in response, letting his hand trail down ever-so-slightly from where it was situated on Porter's waist. He presses his fingertips into Porter's hip, a gentle pressure that's barely noticeable but it's just enough that Porter is having trouble thinking about anything else right now.

"Um, so... about the dare... That wasn't the only reason I kissed you earlier, y'know," Dillon mumbles into Porter's shoulder between kisses, his voice muffled as he makes his confession.

Porter smiles despite the fact that Dillon can't see it in the pitch-black bedroom. "I picked up on that." He taps Dillon's hand and turns over so that he's face-to-face with him. For the first time today, Dillon doesn't look like the epitome of calmness. He's chewing on his lip, probably subconsciously, and Porter can just barely make out the rosy blush on his cheeks.

_Is he just as nervous about this as I was?_ wonders Porter. Meanwhile, any feelings of uncertainty he'd had have dissipated into nothingness; once Dillon touched him he'd realized exactly how he felt.

They're both still laying on their sides when Porter shifts closer to Dillon and presses his lips to Dillon's mouth. He's infinitely more confident now that he knows the enamored feeling is mutual. He kisses Dillon with a newfound enthusiasm that Dillon finds incredibly hot and makes a tiny sound of protest when Dillon abruptly pulls away.

"Here," says Dillon, sitting up. He motions for Porter to come closer. "This'll be more comfortable." Porter complies and climbs into Dillon's lap, straddling his waist as he tucks his feet under Dillon's legs. Dillon tilts his head up and their lips connect once again, eliciting a pleased noise from Porter.

God, this is so much better than anything Porter had ever hoped for. Dillon's hands are gripping his waist under his shirt and it makes his body feel electric, hyperaware of every place where Dillon's skin is brushing against his own. He's suddenly extremely grateful for playing that truth or dare game and mentally notes to thank Hugo later.

It was as if he'd been starving all this time and Dillon knew exactly what he needed to feel whole again.

Porter breaks away from the kiss and lets his eyes wander over Dillon's face. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are shining with happiness as he gazes back at Porter.

Heart swelling, Porter buries his face into Dillon's neck. "Thank you," he whispers, wrapping his arms tightly around Dillon's torso.

Dillon returns the hug, one arm thrown over Porter's back and the other reaching up to nestle his hand into Porter's tousled locks. "What are you saying thank you for?" he asks, still holding Porter in a tender embrace.

"For kissing me earlier," Porter replies. "I don't think I would've have the guts to do it."

Dillon gives Porter a squeeze, lovingly presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Anytime."

Porter sighs blissfully as waves of fatigue roll over him. He doesn't try to fight off the sleepy feeling; it's a welcome sensation that has him perfectly content to lay here with Dillon, to fall asleep with the person he now knows he loves. He closes his eyes and listens to the steady sound of Dillon's heartbeat. Just as he's about to drift off, he hears Dillon murmur something under his breath.

"How on earth did I get so lucky?" Dillon asks, voice thick with emotion.

Porter smiles. _I'm wondering the same thing myself._


End file.
